


Can I Call You Home?

by boyegcs



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyegcs/pseuds/boyegcs
Summary: Post It Chapter 2, but when Eddie got impaled he survived and Richie carried him out of Niebolt, brought him to the hospital, and got him taken care of. He now uses a wheelchair and has told his wife Richie will be coming home with them to help him with the healing process. Little does he know, Richie is madly in love with him and its getting harder to hide it as the days go by.REDDIE SECRET SANTA PROMPT: wheelchair bound Eddie. FOR LILY. I had a lot of fun messaging you this past month and hope to keep in contact! You're so rad and I hope you enjoy it even a little bit!
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	Can I Call You Home?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilysins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilysins/gifts).



> hi! this is my first ever fic, and first time using ao3, so if you can think of any other discretions or tags please do let me know!  
> I honestly tried to make this realistic, but I did no research whatsoever into the time it takes to heal from a severe stab wound LOL. bear with me. pls. ily.

Questions were asked at the hospital thanks to the _nature_ of Eddie Kaspbrak’s wounds, but none of the losers had answers of any merit. They all in one way or another had blood on their clothes, and brows were raised at them (this was after all, little ol' Derry), specifically their _stench_ , but they each took turns going back to the inn to change and wash up. All except for Richie Tozier. He stayed by Eddie’s side, reeking of sewer water and caked blood and dried sweat for _days_ . All that could replay in his mind was the way Eddie had radiated triumph when he thought he’d killed It (Richie blinking in his drunken haze from the deadlights), and then been _skewered_ a moment later, blood spilling from his lips, flowing onto Richie’s own clothes and glasses. A small sound had escaped from Eddie’s lips, and then Richie could only whisper Eddie’s name as he looked up at his best friend being thrown across the cavern. 

That’s what repeated in his head, for days, as he paced around in the cool, sterile hospital bedroom with monitors beeping Eddie’s vitals, as he held Eddie’s hands and prayed to God-knows-what to let him get over this hump, as he kissed the cold fingertips and let them dance over his cheekbones and intertwined their fingers together in the silent loneliness as the other losers waited outside. And when the losers _were_ in the room, trying to persuade him to go get some rest because his forty-year-old back couldn’t sleep in the shitty hospital chairs, he kept his voice hushed so as to not wake up Eddie, to not stir the man he loved, _had_ loved, for thirty fucking years. But they didn’t argue, they simply disagreed, and took turns having one-on-one time with Eddie. 

Even when he went in for his surgeries, Richie couldn’t be coerced to leave the premises, instead drinking cup after cup of coffee, washing his face with cold water, asking Ben if he could clean his glasses on his neatly-pressed shirt, leaning against Bev’s shoulder while trying not to fall asleep, and much more. Mike brought some books on Derry’s history in hopes of reading Richie to sleep, but that’s when he took his phone out and squinted at the bright screen to keep himself awake, thinking about something Eddie might say about articles he'd read citing however-many-hours before bed you shouldn’t be looking at your mobile devices. And then Richie would smile, and then frown, and bury his head in his hands hoping for the best outcome, hoping that Derry’s doctors knew what they were doing, hoping that Eddie could fucking pull through. 

Three days later, Edward Kaspbrak opened his eyes. His hand was being held by someone else’s, and when he looked up the first thing he saw was Richie. He couldn’t have asked for anything else, really. Richie still sported some of the blood on his mustard-colored shirt from when Eddie had bled on him down in the sewers. The mere thought of the flash of memory turned Eddie’s blood cold. “What’re you doing here?” he croaked. An IV of fluids was in his arm but his mouth was still bone dry, jaw almost achey as if he had clenched it unknowingly in his sleep. Richie stood up, letting Eddie’s hand drop to the bed and handed him some tepid water in a cup with a straw. He drank it all in one sitting then wiped the back of his hand across his chin.

“We got him, Eds. We got that fucker.” Eddie was still in a daze. He put a hand up to his left cheek but it had been sewn shut, the messy home-made bandage Ben and Bev had given him long removed, and then he looked down and he was shirtless and a bandage was covering his chest. He was sore in his midsection, like he had been ripped open and sloppily put back together again like a child messily constructing a puzzle and got bored halfway through and left to do something else that piqued their interest. “The doctors set your ribs. Nothing important was damaged, thankfully, somehow. We got you out alive.” 

It was too much for Eddie. His brain couldn’t process so much so fast, what all he was feeling, hearing. He winced and scratched his head, taking it all in. “Hey, hey. We killed It. And then we got you out of there. And then the doctors fixed you up, right as rain. Sewed up the punctured organs. You’re gonna _live_ ,” Richie uttered enthusiastically, smiling ear to ear. Like it was the best damn news of the century, and in a way it was. That monster or whatever-It-was was _dead_. Somehow the six of them had killed evil-incarnate. 

A pause of silence filled the air, and then Eddie asked “Is everyone okay?” Richie couldn’t help but laugh: a short, humorless chuckle. It was just like Eddie to ask about others instead of inquire about his own well-being. 

“Yes, Eddie-bear. They--” 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, looking up and making eye contact with Richie. Richie nodded, not hurt by Eddie’s curtness. He had just woken up, was no doubt in pain, and of course getting used to his surroundings. 

“Do you… want me to get Bill?” he asked quietly. He knew Eddie and Bill had always been close, Bill was charismatic, everyone _loved_ Bill. But Eddie shook his head. Maybe he was embarrassed and didn’t want Bill to see him like this, or was still having trouble waking up, Richie couldn’t say for sure, but he didn’t pay it much mind. He knew he needed to give Eddie some time to wake up, adjust. 

Richie walked to the door, about to get Mike or Bev or someone to come help Eddie, but then a nurse came in and asked “Are you his partner?” Richie’s eyes bulged. _God,_ he wished. How many times in his life had he wished that? He _really_ wished that. He stammered, “No, no, no I’m not.” Eddie was still waking up so he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening at the door (Thank God) and instead was taking in his surroundings. 

“Well, I need to borrow him and he probably shouldn’t come alone. You okay to come with us?” Richie looked back to the bed at Eddie blinking at him, and then back to the nurse. “Um, where to?”

* * *

Eddie panted and moaned as he pushed himself in the wheelchair, weak, toned arms wobbling like spaghetti noodles and Richie winced as he watched his friend slowly push himself around the new spacious and well-lit room. “I don’t know, this is like _torture_ ,” he told the nurse out of the corner of his mouth. “He still has open wounds. Surely I should be pushing him for a few weeks.” 

“I read his medical report,” she screwed up her face, thinking. “He’s stitched up. I mean, yes you can, but he also needs to build the muscles. He needs to be able to move himself, you know. Independence is important for mobility and self confidence.”

“There’s five of us here, he’s never going to be left alone, he won’t need to push himself at all,” Richie complained, wincing as Eddie bumped into a chair and made a yelp of pain as he felt the reverberations all throughout his body. This was much too soon, much too quick to throw him to the lion’s den. “That’s it, I’m helping him.” The nurse made a noise of disapproval, but left the room so the men could right themselves.

“You okay buddy?” he asked, kneeling in front of Eddie, which was kind of a dumb question since Eddie was half in his wheelchair and half out of it. Eddie lifted his head and glared into Richie’s eyes with a look of disdain, and Richie nodded. “Yep, I’ll go fuck myself then. Before I do, why don’t we get you back to your room.” 

“Can’t you go shower, Richie? Jesus Christ you _stink._ ” Now that he was more awake, his senses were working better and the fumes wafting from Richie’s body were discouraging and overwhelming, to say the least. 

Richie couldn’t admit the reasons he hadn’t left Eddie’s side, the fact that he had been in love with him since before they were thirteen. He needed to know he could pull through this, needed to _see_ him through it. Richie’s biggest fear was the moment he left, Eddie might flatline and that would be the last time Richie would see him. Those were _real_ fears. 

Richie’s mouth went dry, he paused for a minute, and he smiled. “Yeah okay. Let’s get you back to your room then I’ll go shower and get outta your hair.”

“I didn’t mean—” Eddie was vaguely aware of Richie’s defensiveness, but Richie shook his head with a solemn smile. “C’mon Eds, I’ll push ya back to your room. Then I’ll send the gang in, okay?” Eddie nodded, and his hand shot up to his own shoulder, where Richie’s hand was pushing the wheelchair. Eddie’s skin was cool against Richie’s warm, larger hand. Richie so badly wanted to rub his thumb on the other’s skin, but Eddie dropped his hand after only a moment. Of course Eddie didn’t want to linger with a smelly dipshit like Richie, and he tried not to screw up his face in pain at the thought that he would never be looked at by his best friend as anything more than affable. He had known this all his life, why did it still hurt? Well, it hadn't for twenty-odd years, but the yearning hit just as hard once he remembered who Eddie Kaspbrak was.

* * *

The other losers congregated into Eddie’s room as Richie got in his car and drove to the inn. It was hard to keep himself from shaking in the shower. Eddie was _alive_ , he was _okay_ , he was _safe._ Mike, Ben, Bill and Bev were with him; they were all okay. Everyone made it out okay. Still, he found it difficult to breathe and his hands kept shaking as he tried to apply his deodorant afterwards, dropping it to the floor. It felt like his chest couldn’t fully inflate, like something was blocking the passageway to breathe. Eddie was **safe** , why was he still having these adverse reactions?! It was bullshit, his feelings for his straight best friend who was married and would never see him in a similar light, were all _bullshit_. He stared at the bags under his eyes, his blotchy skin, and his scruff that was growing in patchy. 

He sighed. No wonder Eddie could never look at him the same, he was fucking disgusting. Richie had always had an air of bravado around him, but it was all a show, all a facade. But he couldn’t convince himself, let alone others. The losers knew the truth, so of course Eddie knew he was weak. He almost cried looking in the fog-smeared mirror, and wiped at his tear-streaked eyes with the back of his hand. It was good to get this shit out, especially while he was all alone. When he was young, his mother had often seen this side of him and been overwhelmed by it, her son who was softer than all the girls on their street. Now that he was an adult, he kept it to himself. Facade was the right word for it, he felt too much but pretended to feel nothing at all, so he smiled widely in the mirror and got ready to go back to Eddie, even if it would kill him inside. He could be who he needed to be behind closed doors, but even around the losers he put on a show. Not as drastic of one that the rest of the world saw, and most of them could see right through it, but who would he be if not an actor? After all, he was Richie Trashmouth Tozier. 

Back at the hospital, the losers all hugged Eddie and showed their gratitude that he made it out alive. They confessed that Richie carried Eddie the majority of the way out of Niebolt, and Eddie nodded distractedly. They tried to offer him food but he just had a piece of bread from a rather unappetizing-looking sandwich, an unsatisfying cup of jello, and some more water. He didn’t have an appetite. When Richie came back, everyone eventually made an excuse to leave, one by one, and again they hugged Eddie and said their farewells, offered him Get Well cards, flowers for the windowsill, etcetera. 

Richie mussed up Eddie’s hair and grinned down at him, plopping in a seat next to him. “How’s it going, Eddie Spaghetti?” All notions of his emotions and worries were in the wind, gone from his mind and his face. 

“That stupid thing is gonna be the death of me, more than this gash in my chest,” Eddie muttered honestly, pointing to the wheelchair. 

“Hey, don’t say that,” Richie replied, hand shooting up to hold Eddie’s right. “We’ll be here to push you around, I promise. We made a pact that at least two of us will be at the hospital at any given time, so you’ll never be alone.” 

Eddie nodded slowly. “You uh… shaved? For me, is it?”

Richie beamed at that. He’d noticed. His stubble had gotten scraggly over the course of Eddie’s nap, and it was disgusting with a little hint of salt sprinkled in to the pepper. “I had to look my Sunday best for my bestest friend,” Richie chimed. Eddie nodded then let out a shaky breath.

After a moment’s hesitation, he asked “Anyone call Myra yet?” 

Richie’s gaze dropped. Of course he was worried about his wife, he was _married_. He let go of Eddie’s hand and smoothed his own on the bedding. “Yeah, the hospital called her. She should be here tomorrow I think.” But when Richie looked at Eddie, it wasn’t relief he saw. It was almost… almost fear, or dread. 

Suddenly Eddie switched gears. “Come here, sleep with me.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You haven’t been able to sleep sitting up for three days, how are you expected to now? Come on, I’ve seen you dozing all day, Bev told me you haven’t slept. You haven’t left to go to the inn, they told me that, too. Just get in the fucking bed.” This was the one chance Eddie had to get Richie to himself, before Myra came. And sure it was under false pretenses but he’d take what he could get, the feeling of Richie’s breath on the back of his neck or his warmth behind him, next to him, anything he could get. Any sense of closeness. 

And all Richie could think was that so many of the times they argued, it was under these pretenses, because Eddie _cared_. Eddie would hide his love for his friends, at least for Richie, under this anger and annoyance. And sure, Richie knew he could be grating, but he couldn’t help but love the other, too, love that he wanted what was best for him. Eddie wanted Richie to get a good night’s sleep, and if he was too stubborn to go back to the inn and get in his own damn bed, Eddie would share his own. That's why Richie loved him, because Eddie was selfless. 

He wasn’t good enough for this man. Eddie was everything he wasn’t. And he tried not to let this love flash in his eyes as he balked for a moment. 

Hesitantly, Richie climbed into the bed—“Under the covers, bonehead.” 

Richie grinned. “Okay okay, Jesus,” he replied, slipping his shoes off first even though Eddie hadn’t asked him to. Eddie had been too tired and distracted to ask, but Richie knew his best friend well enough to know shoes did _not_ belong on beds or under the covers whatsoever (especially none that Eddie was touching).

Eddie scooted to the side, then peered over his right shoulder at Richie. “It’s no four-star hotel, but it’s fucking Derry, its the best they got. Probably hasn’t been upgraded since the fifties,” he exaggerated.

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly expecting a memory foam, Eds,” Richie replied flatly as he adjusted himself on the bed. It was rather lumpy, but Eddie had kept it pretty warm. Though it was cramped, and that was awkward. 

“How long were you waiting for me? To wake up, I mean?” Eddie asked. _27 years,_ Richie almost said, but he cleared his throat. “You slept uninterrupted for three days.”

“You went without a shower, sitting in sewage water-soaked clothes for _three days?!_ ”

 _Yes, and blood_ , he didn’t say. “Anything for you, my Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie cleared his throat. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. After a short pause he asked, “Rich?”

“Yeah, Eds?”

“When Myra comes… Will you stay in the room? Don’t… don’t leave me I mean?”

“What d’ya mean?” he asked coolly. 

“Don’t leave me alone with her.”

There was a pause as Richie considered what Eddie was asking, the courage it took to admit whatever he was saying. That he needed his friend as a buffer to be with his wife. What was wrong with Myra? He supposed he would find out sooner rather than later. _“You’re stronger than you think,”_ he had told him under Niebolt. And the words rang in his ears right now. “‘Course, Eddie,” he said softly, and turned his back to the other. 

It killed Eddie inside to watch Richie turn away when he was so close, in touching distance yet so far, too. He didn’t know his true intentions, his real feelings, how Eddie had always looked at Richie Tozier a little too long, how Richie had always made Eddie laugh a little harder than all the rest. So Eddie turned his back to Richie too, and they fell asleep with their backs lightly brushing, feeling each other’s soft breaths through the clothes on their backs. 

* * *

The next morning, the boys acted like nothing had happened the night before. After all, it _was_ nothing. They’d had sleepovers years before, this was just the same, only they were taller and wider and had more hair now. Richie was in his usual seat (which no longer stunk, thanks to a very diligent nurse bringing in a can of Febreeze and waking up the boys with the distinctly strong odor) when Myra barged through the door and coddled her husband in her stumpy arms. She walked right past Richie to get to Eddie, not even paying him any mind, as if he wasn’t even there.

“Eddie bear, oh my God I was so worried about you! When I got the call I was out of my mind! I double and triple checked my bags and then there were problems with work and I was postponed even more, oh Lord I’ve been away too long. See _this_ is why you don’t go anywhere without me, sweetie pie.” She held his face in her hands like an overbearing grandmother when they see their grandchild only once a year for the holidays, and Richie gawked at them. Eddie was being treated like this at home? On purpose? How degrading, and he thought Eddie knew it because of how he was acting last night, asking not to be left alone with this woman. He was ashamed or embarrassed or _something_ about Myra, and Richie was quickly figuring it out. 

“Myra, I packed all my medications. See? My bags are in the corner. The staff here is very understanding,” Eddie tried to explain, calm and collected, but Myra shut him up with the wave of her hand. “I am bringing you home right this instant, I am signing you out of here and we are driving you home _today_.” 

“Actually,” Eddie began, wetting his lips and looking at Richie hesitantly. “Richie has offered to help me acclimate. You know, instead of paying for a live-in nurse…”

“What nurse? You’re not paralyzed, sweetie. I can bathe you and things like that.” 

“But you have your own job and I would hate to make you use up your vacation time because of me.”

“I’d do _anything_ for you, Eddie-bear,” Myra whined in her usual tone that made her try to get her way. All the while Richie was in pure shock over what Eddie had just signed him up for and what the near future for him was going to look like. 

Oh, he was going to do it, even if he’d die in Myra’s clutches fighting over Eddie. He’d be with him no matter what. 

“It’s final, I have a lot of catching up to do with Rich,” he said, looking hesitantly from his wife to Richie who sat bug-eyed in his chair. “This is non-negotiable. I will need help, and you’re not taking off work. We… we can’t afford it, not if I’m going to be on leave healing for who knows how many months. And I need help getting used to shit--”

“ _Language_ , Eddie-bear.”

Eddie sighed. He’d been around the losers for just a couple of days and he had already ‘forgotten’ his wife had a stick up her ass. “I need to acclimate!” he raised his voice.

Myra just stared at him, ice cold, then left the room without a word, stomping out. 

Her anger hung in the air, almost visible like breath in the wintertime, and then after a moment of silence Richie spoke up. “Gee, Eds, thanks for the heads up. I’ll have to call my manager.”

Eddie looked back to Richie from the door and made eye contact with his friend. “So you’ll do it? You’ll come home with me? With us?” There was a little bit of hope in his voice, it seemed, which Richie didn’t pick up on. Desperation, Eddie thought, and felt an embarrassing hue of crimson creep up his neck.

Richie didn’t hesitate to nod his head. It was an easy question to answer, any time with Eddie he would take, even if it meant getting yelled at by his boss. _Because I love you, Eds,_ he wanted to say, but never in a million years would he confess that. He could talk about embarrassing moments in his life in front of hundreds of strangers on stage, but he couldn’t, in a closed room, tell the most important person in his life how he truly felt. It was bizarre, but he was a chickenshit. He knew that already. He had been in the closet his whole life, and seeing Eddie on that first night at Jade of the Orient… his heart had nearly shattered in his chest. His personality came back tenfold that night, making fun of Eddie constantly, his own personal way of flirting his whole life. If only Eddie could _see_ it.

He tried not to let it show on his face as he looked back at Eddie, who was smiling so cute and dimply and _God_ , he wanted to hug him right there. Eddie’s face made Richie relax a little, even if his heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he grinned back at him in reciprocity. Eddie stirred, trying to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. He was winded by that small workout and Richie quickly stood up to hold his hand and keep him sitting upright. “What do you need? How can I help?” he asked softly, as if only for Eddie’s ears. 

“I need to pack, get ready to leave,” he replied quietly, ashamed at his own weakness. But Richie wasn’t thinking that Eddie was weak. Richie thought he was strong, magnificent, brave, durable. He thought he was beautiful and headstrong and so diligent and unique. 

“Myra won’t take long to get me out of here. She has um… a way with words, I guess.” He scoffed, but even that hurt his enormous, fresh fucking wound and he winced at the pain. Richie placed a hand on his shoulder lovingly. 

“You should um… get your things back at the inn,” Eddie began.

“I’m not leaving you. Remember what you asked last night?”

Eddie looked up in bewilderment. “She’ll try to lose you on the freeway, Rich. Didn’t you see her fuming? She doesn’t want you coming home with us.”

Richie grinned devilishly. “Well then I guess you’ll have to drive in _my_ car.”

This made Eddie laugh through the pain, his cheeks heating up and his eyes squinting. “Like she’ll let me. Besides, your car is so small, my wheelchair won’t fit in it.”

“Then I’ll carry you like a bride over the threshold.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare!” he yelped, batting at Richie’s hand. It felt good to be back to how they were like children, the good old days. Bantering, joking, bickering. He coiled himself into a ball, bending at the waist and hugging his knees.

Richie reached out to tickle his sides but then Eddie started shaking in pain, letting his head drop. Richie’s brows knitted in concern. “Oh my God are you okay?”

Eddie put up a hand to push Richie away and he nodded, catching his breath. “Damnit. When she sees me in the wheelchair, she’ll tighten her grip on me even harder,” he spoke lowly. He looked up at Richie, tears stinging in his eyes. “I really am weak, aren’t I, Rich?” he sobbed quietly. 

Richie stared back, mouth agape. It took him a few moments but he shook his head almost angrily. “No. No, you’re not. It’s not your fault.” His voice hoarse with emotion, Richie knelt in front of Eddie so close he was all he could see. “Look at me.” This was the most serious he had probably ever been before in his life. _Oh God, oh God._

“What you did was amazing. So fucking brave. You _saved_ me. If I could have been stabbed in place of you, believe me I would.” _I would’ve done the same for you in a heartbeat,_ he didn’t say. _At least I hope I would’ve._

“You’re so fucking brave,” he said, left hand coming up to brush the back of his knuckles against Eddie’s cheek. And the other didn’t recoil at the touch, his eyes fluttered closed as if he liked it. _Oh God, oh God._

“Eds?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation. 

Eddie’s eyes shot open and found Richie’s brown eyes and fixated on them. He leaned back and Richie dropped his hand into Eddie’s lap, cupping his knee lovingly. 

“I have to get out of here,” Eddie responded quietly. 

* * *

“Eddie-bear, I don’t like this one _bit!_ ” Myra’s hands were on her hips and she was trying to make a scene in the parking lot with how loud her voice was. Richie wasn’t falling for that shit. Instead he was helping Eddie into his car, Eddie’s arm around Richie’s neck and _(Oh God oh God)_ Richie’s hand near Eddie’s ass, thighs more like, to pick him up and carry him. “I have to transport all the luggage and I don’t even get to have the comfort of my _husband_ in the car with me?! What about our showtunes? Our Beethoven, Chopin? Our road trip games?” 

_When have we ever been on a road trip before?_ Eddie tried not to roll his eyes. Myra complained about traveling and said that the safest place was at home, but he bit his tongue. As Richie settled him into his mustang, Eddie barked back, “Yes Myra, I told you, he’s my oldest friend and I haven’t seen him for over twenty years. It’s a big deal. I _missed_ him.” 

Richie hid a smile from both Kaspbraks at that sentiment. He missed his Eddie Spagheds, too. He even leaned over Eddie to put his seatbelt on (even though the other was fully capable of doing that himself, no gash in his stomach could keep him from moving his arms) and caught a whiff of his aftershave. Richie tried not to close his eyes at the pleasant musk, and as he heard the click he almost hit his head at the top of the car while standing up to get away from Eddie. 

During the drive, every time they stopped for the bathroom or a meal or gas, Myra tried to convince Eddie to come sit in her SUV for a few hours. She was lonely, she loved him, she missed him, she was worried, the list went on and on. Or rather, her manipulative tendencies coiled around Eddie's tender heart, and he felt tempted to give in just to get her to shut up, what could one hour hurt, but Richie was able to talk him out of it every time. 

They arrived home that night after almost ten hours on the road and somehow, Eddie still had energy. Maybe because he wasn’t the one driving, but Richie was spent. He followed Eddie to the guest bedroom which was down the hall from the master. Richie laid back in the bed while Eddie was showing him where the towels were kept and the like, and he cleared his throat. “Oh, I thought you were done,” Richie batted his eyes. 

“No I wasn’t, now will you pay attention?” 

Richie got up on his elbow to watch Eddie wheel himself around, still panting from the energy use. “I can push you around, ya know.”

“No. I need to get used to it or Myra will insist on helping me. I… I can’t be defined as a cripple”

Richie chewed the inside of his cheek, wanting badly to comment on that note, but decided not to go the depressing route. “Well, I’ll be jobless while I’m here, I can push you around all day long, save for when I’m sleeping, showering, or doing errands.”

Eddie looked back at Richie whose close-lipped smile made him look ten years younger, even with the bags under his eyes and crow's feet surrounding them. He really wanted to help him, didn’t he? Eddie saw a softness in the other’s eyes, a genuineness that wasn’t there when they were kids. Or rather, that he had never picked up on when they were younger, and just now was. His heart softened. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered.

He left Richie on the bed, wanting more, but knowing it was simply impossible. Richie fell asleep a few hours later, clutching a pillow and wishing it was his best friend. 

* * *

The next morning, Richie slept in. He hadn’t even thought that he was ‘on duty,’ and he was still bleary-eyed when he came out to the kitchen, pushing his unkempt hair out of his face. 

“Fucking finally,” Eddie breathed when he looked over his shoulder. He, too, had slept in, somehow managing to swing himself into the wheelchair without falling face first onto the floor. His left hand was on the counter as his right reached up towards the cabinet. He couldn’t reach the mugs that were on the medium shelf, and he felt a stitch in his side from the large, gaping wound that hadn’t yet healed. He dropped his hand as Richie rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. Instinctively, he stomped over and took two mugs off the shelf, placing them on the counter, and poured some coffee into them, leaving enough room for Eddie to add creamer or sugar if he wanted to. Instead, Eddie blew on it once and downed half of it at once. Richie gaped at him, his eyes shooting open. “Jesus Christ, Eds,” he huffed.

Eddie looked up at him, frowning with confusion. “What?”

“How about a little sugar with your tar?”

“I like it black. I don’t wanna end up pudgey like you,” he said, reaching forward to pinch Richie in the gut. He smacked the hand away instinctively. 

“Hurtful,” he emphasized, before taking a sip and subsequently shaking his head. “No wonder. You burned all your fuckin’ taste buds off, man.”

“Well, there’s sugar in the second-largest tin by the window, and creamer in the fridge.”

“Okay, sugar,” Richie winked at his friend. He shuffled to make the coffee tolerable and then asked over his shoulder. “What’s the deal for today? Any plans? Errands?” 

Eddie shook his head then. Myra usually did the grocery shopping and cooking since Eddie worked longer hours (when he did, of course), and they couldn’t exactly do errands together if Eddie’s wheelchair didn’t fit in Richie’s trunk. 

Richie turned to Eddie. “Maybe some physical therapy?” He wiggled his eyebrows and Eddie just stared with practically no response. And then he opened his mouth. “You’re not exactly qualified, y’know.”

“Nonsense, Eds. Just a little stretching, range of motion, touch your toes, all that jazz.”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t really trust you. My car will be here in a couple of days, you can drive it around and bring me to my doctor appointments then.”

“Eddie bear,” Richie sighed. “You know I’d do _anything_ for you,” he said, voice dripping with honey. He batted his long lashes at the other.

Eddie couldn’t help but smirk at Richie. Couldn’t help but have a sliver of wonder if Richie actually meant it, but the warmth in his belly faded as quickly as it had sprung on. No, he couldn’t, he acted this way around everyone, joked around everyone, Eddie wasn’t anyone special in his eyes. 

He sighed. “Yeah, well, no fucking touching me unless you’re helping me into the car.”

“Or the bath?” Richie insinuated, reaching the back of his finger to rub at Eddie’s tricep. Eddie looked down at it, narrowing his eyes in confusion. Was it a mistake to invite Richie over? He honestly couldn’t read him any more, it’d been so long since they were last close, and there was never this _itch_ that needed to be scratched before. He blinked up at Richie. “I think I’ll have Myra help me with that one,” he muttered, dropping his gaze before he made eye contact with Richie. 

“Where’s the fun in that, Eddie Spaghetti? Has she even seen it yet?”

Eddie shook his head. Myra had helped him with his pants but not his shirt, he had changed into pajamas last night when she was busy in the bathroom. 

“Dude, if she sees your wound she’s gonna flip. She’s so much like your mom she won’t let you leave the hospital for a _year_!”

Even though he had had practically the same thoughts (“if she sees me, she won’t let me out of her sight”), Eddie scrunched up his eyebrows. “My mom?” he asked in bewilderment. He rolled himself to the counter in the corner of the kitchen where the breadbox was so he could make himself a sandwich. He couldn’t stand over the stove to make eggs or oatmeal, and he wasn’t in the mood for cereal. 

“Oh… n-no I didn’t mean… I just…” _You know what?_ Richie thought, _Yeah, he needs to hear it._ “Dude, you married your _mom_.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat at the table, turning his body to face Eddie. “You have to trust me, man. If she sees how bad the gash is… she’s gonna baby you… gonna kick me out… lock you up…”

Eddie turned and made a face at Richie, taking the jam from the fridge. “You don’t even know her,” he responded quietly, thoughtfully. But he couldn’t deny he could see the truth in it. And he thought that was what angered him the most, that Richie’s intuition was so strong when Eddie lacked any at all. Eddie second-guessed himself constantly, and here Richie was somehow knowing his marriage better than he did himself. He had known Myra a total of what, an hour tops? And somehow had her figured out. Well, fuck him. 

“Dude, she has Sonia Kaspbrak written all over her fucking face!” Richie’s voice was rising, but Eddie was turning inwards, caving in on himself, raising his shoulders and lowering his head. Richie finally caught on and lowered his hand, realizing he was gesturing wildly. 

“I just… I just think you need to be careful. And _trust_ me. You asked me here for a reason.” 

All of a sudden, Eddie saw Richie’s hand on his knee, slender fingers cupping it and thumb rubbing lazy circles into his pajama bottoms. “What the fuck, Richie?” he breathed. Richie didn’t think he was crossing any lines, but he stood up from his knee that he was on and looked down at Eddie. He looked so small and broken in that chair, and it crushed him. Eddie was the most industrious badass he knew, and he wished he could just see that. He swallowed the lump in his throat and walked back to the table, sitting in a lump on the chair. Eddie hesitated before making his sandwich and they sat at the table in silence before Richie retired to take his shower. 

* * *

The rest of the day, they tried to avoid each other, but by the next day Eddie knew he needed to shower badly. He was in the same fucking blue-and-white striped pajamas as the day before, and pounded on Richie’s door before 8am came around. When Richie answered it, there was a trail of spittle still dribbling down the side of his mouth. “Charming,” Eddie claimed, but Richie had no idea what he was referring to. “Can you uh, push me to the master’s bathroom? Please?”

“You need me to help you whip it out?” Richie asked groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

“No, asshole. I need… A shower, or… sponge bath or whatever,” Eddie’s voice lowered towards the end and his head ducked, too. Richie’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what Eddie was asking of him. “What uh… are the ground rules?” Richie asked hesitantly, eyes instantly diverting. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m gonna sit at the lip of the tub in my boxers, you’re gonna use a washcloth and clean my body, and I’ll clean my wound with a separate washcloth.”

“Don’t trust me, Eds?” Richie asked after a moment of silence, as he thought it over. 

“No, in fact, I do not.”

“Can I get in my swim trunks, too?” he asked after another moment, and broke out into an impish grin. For some reason Eddie couldn’t be mad at him. “What are you planning on doing? Splashing me? Please for the love of God _don’t._ ” 

“Take all the fun out of everything,” Rich pouted sarcastically, turning Eddie’s wheelchair around and down the hall to the master suite. He was still in his Hooters t-shirt and pajama bottoms that hung loosely around his waist--he hadn’t pulled them up since standing up from bed. Eddie chewed on his lip, trying not to think how Richie desperately needed a shower, too, or that slab of skin poking out below his shirt before Richie pulled his pants up to his belly button.

It was pretty quiet, for the most part. Richie asking Eddie to lift his arm, asking if the wash cloth was okay, the temperature was fine, and Richie was very gentle where Eddie couldn’t have imagined it otherwise. He even stripped out of his pants (not caring if he got his shirt wet) to kneel in the shallow water in front of Eddie to work on his legs. He kept asking Eddie if it was okay, if he needed anything, if he needed to hold on to Richie for balance. That was a sobering experience. All the while, Eddie tried not to stare at Richie’s thick, pale thighs that he wanted to caress. Fucking hell. 

Richie put the fresh wash cloth under warm running water and handed it to Eddie. He watched as Eddie, with the utmost care and patience, much like he had stitching up Ben’s wound all those years ago, dabbed at the pink, delicate skin surrounding his gash. Because it went clean through him, Richie cleaned his back afterwards. 

* * *

A week later, Eddie’s black SUV had been returned to his home and Richie was using it to bring Eddie out into the world, going to do errands and doctor appointments. It was good for him, good for both of them, to be together and get out of the dark house. However, Richie still got nightmares every few days. 

Myra had turned in for the night and Eddie was still up (already in his pajamas, which wasn’t helping his mental health but when he was home so often why would he wear actual clothes?), reading an autobiography next to the couch in his wheelchair. Richie had a late night snack before heading to bed, a single bowl of cereal that he poured out in the sink and left to clean in the morning. 

After all the pushing he did that day, the grocery shopping he did with Eddie, putting the food away, even following a recipe for dinner to surprise Myra, Richie was exhausted and fell asleep pretty early. However, he didn’t sleep soundly. As soon as he shut his eyes, he saw Eddie. 

Eddie stood at the stove in Richie’s LA apartment, stirring something in a pan--it smelled like an omelet, with onions, spinach, mushrooms, and chives. He turned when he saw Richie, smiling. He had a small stitch on his left cheek, but that was the only evidence of their time in Derry. 

He opened his arms when he saw Richie, who sauntered over to the other and wrapped his arms, low down his back, around Eddie. There was no dialogue or sound, no ruffling of clothes or shuffling of feet, just silence and tranquility.

Eddie pulled back and kissed Richie warmly on the mouth, cupping his cheek with his left hand. He pulled back and smiled, and when he turned to the stove Richie held his petite waist in his gangly hands, rubbing circles on his lower back underneath the shirt. He kissed Eddie’s neck which caused the shorter man to raise his shoulders, as if he were ticklish. Richie got elbowed in the ribs, and he felt the warmth of laughter spread throughout his chest. 

He turned Eddie around and kissed his jawline. Eddie leaned away, giving him more room on his neck to explore. After a moment, Eddie turned around, moved the skillet off the stovetop and turned the stove from Medium to Off. He turned back around just in time to catch Richie’s lips on his own, smiling against Richie’s skin. Richie could feel the rumble of his chuckling, and it filled him with love.

He dragged the other to his bedroom, kissing constantly, pulling Eddie on top of him as he threw himself back onto the bed. Eddie situated his knees on either side of the taller man and nuzzled into his neck, planting chaste kisses on the warm, inviting skin there. Richie hooked his thumbs into Eddie’s boxers, and felt rather than heard Eddie’s laughter against his skin, the hot, wet breath emanating on his neck. 

He pushed Eddie back to look into his deep hazel eyes. He was so beautiful, so handsome. Eddie was still grinning ear to ear as if something was funny when Richie opened his mouth, trying to tell him how much he meant to him, trying to say “I love you,” but nothing came out. He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. He opened his mouth again, but it was like something was in his throat blocking the sound, something in him was broken. 

His grip on Eddie’s arm tightened and the shorter man’s smile slowly dissipated. He looked down at his arm in confusion, wondering what was wrong with Richie. 

“I love you,” he tried to say. “Be mine, don’t leave.” But Eddie was getting up on his knees, looking down at Richie, acting like he was going to leave. Richie was confused and scared and tried to reach out, and then something dark and malicious sprung through Eddie’s chest, and hot, dark blood splattered over Richie’s pajamas, coating his chest and face and glasses and hair. He finally heard a garbled sound, it was Eddie, as he sputtered out Richie’s name. His own voice gasped as he looked up, reaching for Eddie, before he was thrown across the room at full force, hitting the closet door and breaking it off its hinges as he fell face-first onto the floor, unmoving. 

“Eddie!” Richie heard himself scream. And then Pennywise, large and with much too many legs, face as big as a fucking bookshelf was in front of Richie’s bed, breath sour and hot. “I told you not to touch the other boys,” he taunted. 

* * *

When Richie woke up, there were tears in his eyes and he was panting for breath, throat raw from shouting or whining or speaking, he couldn’t actually say. In the dark, he could see the shine of Eddie’s eyes, only knowing it was him because of the outline of his black wheelchair. Eddie was silent and Richie half feared it was still a dream. Still laying flat, his eyes darted left and right, looking for Pennywise. Finally, Eddie spoke. 

“I have them too, you know,” he said softly, quietly, slowly. 

“Wha-?” Richie huffed, chest rapidly beating. 

“That night, everything fuckin’ changed.” His voice started sounding more normal now, his natural intonations, speed, all coming back. As if he had forgotten momentarily who he was, perhaps. “I’m a cripple because of that fucking asshole.”

“Hey, hey,” Richie sat up and leaned forwards, placing his hand on Eddie’s knee. “Next month we can start you walking and you will be mobile and independent and…” 

He looked down and found Eddie’s hand had made its way on top of Richie’s. He didn’t know what to think, this heat sandwiching his hand, but it was _good_. 

“Do you… Can I…” Eddie began, not knowing how to convey his thoughts. 

“ _Please,_ ” Richie begged. Eddie stared back, not knowing if they were on the same page. Then Richie finished his thought for him. “Don’t make me sleep alone after that,” he breathed. And he faintly saw Eddie nod in the dark. 

Eddie started standing up from his chair and Richie jumped out of bed to put his hand on Eddie’s lower back, guiding him to the comfort of the bed. Eddie shifted so he was laying comfortably on his back and Richie padded to the opposite side of the bed. Eddie tried not to turn his head because of how much the pillow smelled like Richie, but when he closed his eyes that’s all he could think about. And then Richie’s large, warm arm was draped over his shoulders, palm cupping Eddie’s left shoulder in his hand. 

“Is it okay?” Richie asked breathily. He’d brushed his teeth and smelled amazing and Eddie tried not to shudder. What was he _doing_ ? _Helping a friend,_ he told himself. He nodded quickly. 

“What uh… do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie asked quietly, looking over his shoulder at Richie. He could faintly see the gleam of sweat on his brow. 

Richie bit his bottom lip and slowly nodded. “We were at my LA apartment. You were making breakfast. You were standing, healthy, good. And then… Something went through your chest.” He obviously left out the foreplay part. “And you were thrown across the room and--” he bit back a sob and Eddie got on his side to push Richie’s sweat-soaked bangs out of his face. 

“Rich, you said it yourself. We beat It. I’m here, I’m alive.” He chewed the inner part of his cheek to keep from kissing his best friend right here right now, and thankfully the distraction worked as he slowly breathed to preoccupy himself. He saw Richie’s dark eyes find his own and then he nodded in response. Eddie smiled. 

Richie brought his hand to Eddie’s arm and then to his stomach. He felt the bandage underneath Eddie’s shirt, and thumbed it. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to ask “How is it now?”

Eddie sucked in a deep breath, looking up at Richie in the darkness. He could see a little more of his features as his eyes adjusted. “Better. Still sore and tender, but my range of mobility is getting better. I’m desperate to start walking, though.”

Richie snorted. “With a walker?”

“Yeah… better than a clunky wheelchair.” Eddie had warmed up to the damned thing over the past week and a half, anything to get around to be honest, but it was a slow and arduous ride for sure (at least it was decent when Richie pushed him around). It was a constant reminder that he was incapable of anything and everything, and Myra still looked at him like he was fucking broken. Half the time he pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to talk to her, or he didn’t go to bed until late at night after he _knew_ she’d be sound asleep. It was great because she could feel their growing distance and no longer whined about him ignoring her, as she understood, in her own way, that he was going through something terrible and needed time to adjust. But it also sucked because she pitied him, and he felt it in his bones. 

He was knocked out of his thoughts by the other’s voice. “Eds.... thanks,” Richie whispered, barely loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

Eddie would never in a million years admit that he would rather sleep in a warm bed with Richie than with his own wife. Divorce wasn’t even on his mind because he never even thought this could be reciprocated, but the feeling of his best friend next to him, his space mixing with his own… it was intoxicating and warm and made him fuzzy inside, drunk with love. 

Without thinking, Eddie turned his back to Richie and immediately, Richie scooted closer to wrap his arm around him. 

He hesitated and asked, “Is this okay?” hot in his ear. Eddie nodded then rasped out a curt “Yeah.” And they fell asleep, Eddie in Richie’s arms, and Richie breathing in the scent of the man he had loved for thirty years. 

* * *

It was now a week later. Neither of them had spoken about that night, not that it was bad or anything, but they had both gotten on with their lives and their individual duties. Richie made a very good live-in nurse, surprisingly. As Eddie had already learned, Richie had a soft side to him, he could be gentle and nurturing and careful if he needed to be, and it only made the want in Eddie’s stomach coil tighter, and his brain hurt more and more. Surely he was just confused and seeing phantoms. Surely. 

Right now they were driving home from a physical therapy appointment when Richie’s phone rang. He answered it using the steering wheel since he had connected his phone via Bluetooth. It was his manager, calling to yell at him of course. He was still supposed to be on tour, and had blown a month of dates out the fucking window. Where the hell was he?!

“Look, man, this is really important to me. I don’t--I don’t know how much longer. No, I can’t talk about it.” He looked hesitantly over at Eddie who was trying not to eavesdrop but it was hard when Richie’s manager’s voice filled the entire SUV. Eddie kept trying to look out the window innocently, but he couldn’t exactly cover his ears. 

Eddie spoke quietly, trying not to let his voice get picked up by the microphone. “It’s okay Rich, really, you can go back to work.” 

Richie put his hand up to try to get Eddie to stop talking as his manager went on about his contract and responsibilities and how much he was paying Richie, and Richie shot back with how this was just as important, if not more so, and Eddie looked at him in confusion, wondering where this fervor was coming from. They had had so many quiet days, staying at home, reading, playing Scrabble or Life or card games for fuck’s sake. Richie had better things to do, surely? Yeah, so what if they’d gotten good at crossword puzzles or booklets of sudoku, they were just farting around before Eddie healed enough to go back to work. Was that what Richie was waiting for? Eddie to gain his autonomy back before he left him alone with his wife to go back to his boring suburban life?

When Richie finally hung up the phone, Eddie glared at him in shock. “You’re not getting fired, are you? For _me_?”

“No, he gets like this. He’ll cool off in a few days,” he mumbled with no conviction whatsoever. 

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, you can go home, really. Myra can take a few days off I’m sure, and I’ll have a walker soon…” Eddie tried to explain. 

Richie sighed and put his blinker on. He pulled into a Target parking lot, stopping near the back where it was desolate and lonely. He turned towards Eddie once the car had come to a complete stop. 

“You don’t fucking get it,” he began. Eddie just stared, wondering what the fuck was going on. “I’ve been--gah. Fucking hell.”

“Richie?”

“I can’t stop… I can’t leave you, Eddie. Even when you’re all better, you can’t get rid of me. I can’t stop _thinking_ about you. I won’t be able to, after being here, I can’t go back. I don’t know what I can do without you.”

Eddie stared at him, mouth agape, and Richie looked into his brown eyes, licked his lips, and continued.

“When I saw you at the restaurant, memories flooded back to me. Turns out I… fucking… Ugh. Calling it a crush doesn’t do it any justice. I fucking **love** you okay? Sure, I’m sure I’d get nightmares if any of our friends got impaled and bled on me, but _you_ ? **Fuck**! I almost lost you, Eds! I could’ve lost you.” He was panting and his voice quivered and Eddie’s eyes had blown up twice their size as he sat in silence. 

“You… you carried me out,” he whispered under his breath. It was Eddie realizing it was an act of love rather than just Richie doing it because Eddie was ‘his bro.’ There was something deep between them. Richie somehow got an unconscious Eddie out from Niebolt. 

“You’re not exactly heavy, Mr. I’m-Average-Hei--”

“I’m average height!” Eddie squealed, annoyed. 

“Do you hear what I’m saying to you?!” Richie asked, breathless as if he had just run a 5k. 

“Richie… I’m married…” Eddie whispered, sounding so defeated and hurt that their timing sucked. 

Richie stared back at Eddie. It didn’t go through his mind that Eddie didn’t say _I’m straight_ or _I don’t feel that way_ or _but you’re a guy._ He just felt defeated that of course Eddie would choose his wife, who he had _history_ with, over his friend who made dick jokes constantly, his friend who he forgot about for most of his life, who he always argued with, always butted heads with. But these past few weeks were proof that they weren’t always going at each others' throats, right? It was proof that they made each other smile on occasion, and while Eddie knew he harbored secret feelings for Richie, hearing that Richie felt the same way felt like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t know if it was good or bad.

Richie put the car into reverse and moved his foot to the gas pedal, but Eddie put his hand on the gear stick, and Richie’s foot shifted to the brake, stopping them in the near-empty parking lot. He looked up at Eddie.

He wanted to kiss him, he so badly did, but Eddie had always lacked courage and he didn’t know if he could lean that far with 1) his seat belt on and 2) his wound diminishing his mobility. 

So he took his hand off of Richie’s and nodded and let Richie drive him home, in complete silence. Richie was internally screaming, swearing, crying--blinking back tears that threatened to sting his eyes.

Eddie was thinking strongly about his marriage, his feelings for Richie, if he could get away with being openly gay in this harsh world. It was a hard conversation to have, and when Richie pulled into the driveway, pulled out the wheelchair from the back, and helped Eddie into it, Eddie’s arm across Richie’s shoulders as he held up his weight, Eddie’s breath hitched. He’d come to a conclusion. 

* * *

Richie went to bed the second Myra came home, so she could take care of Eddie if needed. He didn’t say a word, didn’t have any dinner, and discreetly packed his suitcase in silence behind closed doors. He decided he’d leave in the morning, hopefully before Myra left for work. He’d made a shit of himself enough today. He texted his manager and said he’d be home in time for the weekend. 

Eddie waited an hour until after Myra fell asleep. He knew the way she breathed when she slept, so that’s when he closed his book, placed it on the nightstand, rolled himself across the hall to Richie’s room and knocked on the door. He heard the creak of the bed and shuffling of his feet, so familiar now after he had been with them for so long. It really was like home now, wasn’t it? _Richie_ was home. The thought made Eddie shudder before the taller man opened the door. 

Richie looked down at Eddie in his wheelchair and automatically cracked the door more to invite him in. He didn’t say anything, not even a greeting. 

“Richie… I um… I have to tell you something.” Eddie had rehearsed it as he sat in his chair, pretending to read as his wife drifted off to sleep. But it was now lost in the wind, completely forgotten. 

“Hmm?” Richie asked dully. Yes, he was embarrassed about earlier and wanted to hide under a rock, wanted to leave right the fuck now. 

“Sit down,” he gestured to the bed and Richie walked around the wheelchair to sit at the edge. He looked at Eddie expectantly. 

Again, the thought to surge forward and kiss Richie popped into his mind, and he bit his inner cheek to try and push it away. Instead however, his eyes traveled down to Richie’s plump lips and he sighed at how soft they looked. He immediately looked away. 

Eddie thought about starting at the beginning, how he had had a crush on Richie all those years ago, and had the same twisting feeling at the restaurant those weeks ago. But it felt weird, alien, to say that aloud. Then again, he really had never bore his heart out on his sleeve for anyone, let alone a man that he really did love. 

When Eddie looked up at Richie, the other was looking down at his hands in his lap. He wondered what he was thinking, and he scooted closer to him to take his warm hands in his own. 

“I’m gay,” Eddie said simply. Richie stared back, not knowing what to make of it. There was no context, nothing else shared, just a simple fact. “I um… you… yeah,” Eddie mumbled, scratching the back of his head with his left hand, eyes falling to the floor next to Richie’s feet. 

Richie pulled one of his hands away from Eddie and placed his forefinger under Eddie’s chin to bring his eyes to meet his own. 

“I’m a numbskull, Eds. You have to _say_ it.”

Eddie looked back at Richie and blinked hard, a tear falling from his eye. Richie wiped it away with his thumb lovingly, somehow soft. Goddamn him and his surprising delicacy. 

“I don’t love Myra. I love you,” he whispered shakily, eyes boring into Richie’s. Richie’s hand dropped to Eddie’s lap and he nodded. He couldn’t believe it, but he acknowledged the other. 

“ _Say_ something,” Eddie pleaded, even though a few hours earlier Richie had said the same thing. But Richie was too dumbstruck to kiss Eddie, too surprised and overjoyed and frankly diffident to initiate. 

But Eddie wasn’t shameless. He had never fooled around with men before, always had a beard on his arm if he wasn’t single (which most of the time he was). Shakily, he brought both hands up to Richie’s cheeks to hold him in place. Richie swallowed thickly, knowing what was about to come next. And then Eddie leaned forward, brushing their lips together.

It was a little underwhelming. Sure it was good, but it wasn’t blow-your-socks-off good. It was electrifying, warm, inviting and heavy and loud, and seemingly went on forever; they couldn’t get enough of each other, senses overwhelming each other. Eddie opened his mouth encouragingly and Richie licked at his lips, edging his tongue into the other’s mouth. Richie’s hand went behind Eddie’s neck and kept him locked in place as he sat at the edge of his seat, ass hovering on the bed so he could lean closer to Eddie. 

When he finally sat back down and parted from the other, Richie smiled reluctantly at Eddie, almost bashfully. “What uh…” he began, but then Eddie started talking. 

“Outside of family, I’ve only said ‘I love you’ to two women. Oh my God.” 

Richie clasped his hands around Eddie’s, sitting comfortably back down on the bed. “Eds. It’s always been you. I… the kissing bridge… it was always you.”

Eddie stared back, dumbfounded. “What?”

Richie nodded. “I wrote our initials in it. Ages ago, before Pennywise. I’ve loved you my entire goddamn life.” 

Eddie dropped his gaze to Richie’s knees and tried not to let another tear fall. “Even… even though I’m…?”

“Oh, fuck. Eddie.” Richie got down on his knee and looked up at him. Still, the depths of sweetness he would go to surprised Eddie. “You’ll get through this. You’re healing up like a goddamn champ. And remember? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll get a new manager if I have to. I’ll… I’ll move to New York--”

“No,” Eddie cut him off. Richie’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “Take me with you to California.”

Richie surged up and kissed him again, his hand resting behind his neck. The warmth surged through Eddie’s chest, tickling it pink as his finger rested below Richie’s chin comfortably. 

He finally pulled away and kept his forehead pressed against Eddie’s. “Anything you want. Anything.” 

Eddie hesitated before pulling back to look into Richie’s eyes. “Will you help me settle onto the couch? I don’t want to wake Myra up and have her know how late I went to bed. I’ll pretend I fell asleep watching TV or something.” 

Richie nodded. “Eds. I don’t wanna stress you or anything, but… a divorce…?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” 

Richie nodded again and brought the wheelchair to the dimly lit living room. There was a night light of sorts in the kitchen but that and the windows were the only illumination. Eddie could now practically walk on his own (a few steps at a time, not enough to survive without his wheelchair) but he was weak and usually leaned into whoever was helping him, so he lifted himself to the couch with the help of Richie, holding onto his shoulder for support. He got comfortable before leaning down. 

“Can I sit with you? Maybe you put your feet in my lap? We fell asleep watching… I dunno, Chopped?”

Eddie peered up at the other. His hair looked black in the darkness and he couldn’t see his eyes. “I think I remember you not being able to sleep sitting up, or am I imagining things?”

Richie dropped his gaze in embarrassment. “Beep beep, Richie,” he mumbled to himself, and Eddie groped for his hand. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Good night.”

“I love you, Eddie,” he said softly, and Eddie could feel Richie’s lips brush his forehead, and then his thumb pushed the hair out of his eyes, and then Richie was gone. 

* * *

Eddie’s heart raced more than it ever had in his entire life in the next few days (in a good way, promise). He and Richie held hands while sitting around the house, talking, catching up on their lives in intimate ways as they learned the feel of each others’ skin. They hid their relationship from Myra, acting as if nothing were amiss, keeping their distance when she was home. And sure Eddie felt bad lying to her, but he needed to find the right time to tell her, and being a cripple maybe wasn’t the time when he was still so reliant on her as well as others. 

“Just come to California with me,” Richie would beg, but Eddie knew he had a lot of loose strings to tie up in New York before he could take either a sabbatical to California or relocate fully all the way across the country. He knew it was hard, they had come so far, were so close to being together yet had so much more to do. 

“First I need to heal. Then I need to divorce her. Then I can move in with you,” Eddie would whisper softly (even when they were home alone) and lean forwards and kiss his nose tenderly, eyes fluttering shut. 

And Richie was so fucking infatuated with the way Eddie touched him, the way his skin danced on Richie’s, the way he looked into his soul. He crumbled in his grasp, and even though he didn’t like it he would nod and a few days later he would complain about it again. Rinse, repeat. 

It was another week or more before Eddie could trade his wheelchair in for a cane. To be honest, he was terrified of losing his crutch. As much as he bitched about the clunky piece of crap, it was his lifesource for the past month or so; he still had a love-hate relationship with the thing, but it had seen him through many days, and frankly he didn’t trust his legs or strength any longer, not after Pennywise had taken them from him. 

Myra took the day off work to take him to the hospital and help guide her husband by the arm. It killed Richie to see her hold him so close, and Eddie grip her in return, like a fucking lifeline. He wanted to be that for him. She had touched Eddie in ways, over the years, that Richie hadn’t been able to yet, and he felt a pang of jealousy erupt in his chest. He excused himself from the room and went for a walk outside in the fresh air, trying to calm himself down.

On the car ride home, Myra praised Eddie who sat looking out the window silently. She rubbed his knee and reached for his hand in his lap, saying how proud she was, what good form he had, how strong he had grown. 

“Richie,” he called out, turning slightly in his seat, ignoring his wife. “You missed it. My legs were like jelly.”

“Mm,” he replied, and Myra shot Eddie a dreadful look. She changed the subject about dinner and asked what Eddie wanted, his favorite meal tonight? To celebrate? Eddie shrugged and seemed disinterested, and she tried desperately to gain his attention for the duration of the ride. Richie didn’t mind. He knew Eddie loved him, and his feelings for Myra had dwindled from cordial to scarce since they’d confessed their feelings. 

When they pulled into the driveway, Eddie was eager to walk inside. He practically hopped out of the car, since his cane was resting between his knees in the passenger seat. Both Myra and Richie watched behind him as he fumbled to the door, then he turned around looking for them. 

“Make the cripple do all the work?” he called out, but the smile he made had Richie looking down at his feet and blushing wildly. Eddie took the keys out of his pocket to open the front door, and in they went. 

* * *

Richie returned to work two weeks after he told his manager he’d be back. Once Eddie had mobility, it seemed useless to stick around. The night before his flight out, Eddie cuddled in his bed before retiring to the couch. Before he left, Richie pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Keep me updated,” he whispered. “Tell me everything. About the paperwork, your feelings, how you’re holding up. Call me as much as you can. Promise?”

Eddie smiled. He nodded and leaned his cheek into Richie’s palm. “You haven’t asked me for dick pics yet,” he whispered. 

Richie snorted. “Well Jesus, I didn’t know that was on the table. I honestly thought you’d be too self conscious with your wound… but I won’t say no.”

“Yeah yeah, keep it in your pants.”

“You’re making me,” Richie growled. There was a beat of silence before he continued on. “But you’ll really do it? Move in?”

Eddie studied Richie’s lips and then the dark eyes behind his boxy glasses. “Once I can start moving furniture and picking up boxes, I promise, I’ll make the arrangements. Just a little more time, baby.”

Richie shuddered at the nickname. He hadn’t grown used to them yet. “I just… I’m sorry. That I’m impatient, I mean,” he confessed, dropping his eyes. 

Eddie nodded, then his hand reached for Richie’s cheek. “This is some nice ass you’re missing out on,” he grinned. “You have a right to be thirsty.”

“Must you rub it in?” Richie rolled his eyes, then Eddie leaned onto his back and rolled over to get out of bed. Richie watched as the shirt climbed up his back, biting his lip in hunger. He reached out to scrape his fingertips against the warm, inviting skin of the other, and Eddie turned around, smiling dimly. 

Richie leaned forward, pushed the shirt upwards, and kissed right below Eddie’s wound, hands holding his waist firmly. Eddie let a breath escape him of relief and desperation, but then stood up and made his way out the door. 

* * *

Somehow the timing happened perfectly. Sure Eddie had rushed the process and even hired help to move some of his stuff, but he booked his flight to Los Angeles on Valentine’s Day the next year. After all, it took months for the divorce to finalize and get Myra off his back, to block her number, to get her out of his life. It was a rough little bit where Eddie was between hotels with his furniture in a storage locker, and Richie flew out sometimes to help him go through his belongings. But they were over the hump and when Eddie walked down the stairs to the baggage claim and saw Richie with a sign containing some egregious words… he smiled and ran up to him, jumping into his arms. 

“Are you ready to go home?” Richie asked.

“Please,” Eddie nodded, stepping back and smoothing his clothes out. He had Skyped enough with Richie to know what the apartment looked like and was excited to see it in the flesh and do his own form of deep cleaning, unpack, get to know the neighborhood. 

“Good,” Richie nodded slowly. “I think I’m looking at him.”


End file.
